


A Ton of Bricks

by FivePips



Series: Soutenu [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Anorexia, Eating Disorder, M/M, TW: Eating Disorder, balletlock, tw: anorexia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FivePips/pseuds/FivePips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a bad day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ton of Bricks

“Wow, you landed like a ton of bricks!”  
  
Anderson’s voice was ringing loudly in Sherlock’s head. He knew that the dimwit meant nothing malicious by it. Anderson hated him but he would never go after him that way. He wasn’t so cruel. No one but Moriarty would be that cruel.  
  
Plus, Sherlock knew that the landing was awkward and loud. He knew that he was in perfectly good shape and had nothing to worry about.  
  
But that didn’t stop Sherlock from studying himself in the mirror. Nor did it stop him from calculating how many calories he had consumed or what his BMI probably was. Sherlock wanted to weigh himself but the only scale in the building, to his knowledge, was in the physiosuite and there was no way that he would be able to use it without someone worrying or commenting.  
  
Luckily, John was going to drinks with the rest of his co-workers so he raced home. But as he walked through the door he remembered they didn’t keep a scale in the flat anymore. Sherlock had binned it when John moved in because he wanted to show him the progress he had made.  
  
It was stupid though, normal people have scales around the flat. Then again, Sherlock knew that he wasn’t necessarily normal in that regard because he suffered from an eating disorder. John would chastise him, if he knew he thought he wasn’t normal because he battled anorexia.  
  
Once he gave up on the scale hunting his sat on the floor next to the toilet and thought about what he had to eat. That was something he did far too much in the past. It was apart of the whole ritual of it.  
  
            — 1 Banana  
            — Half a cup of whole grain cereal with almond milk  
            — Protein shake  
            — Some type of chicken sandwich  
            — Small side salad  
            — A few grapes  
            — Packet of crisps  
  
Sherlock felt his lunch sitting heavily in his stomach, which was illogical but this whole bloody thing was illogical. Sherlock was on a spiral out of control, which he loathed. He was all about control.  
  
He should have found John before he left and told him to come home with him and skip the drinks.  
  
But Sherlock was stuck on the cool tiles of the bathroom and his mobile was all the way in the kitchen in his jacket that he discarded on the back of a chair.  
  
This disease was stupid. He heard the voice somewhere deep in the back of his mind but it wasn’t loud enough to convince him to get off of the floor.  
  
What he heard over and over and over again in his head was that he landed like a ton of bricks. And that the calories he consumed were some astronomical amount, which he was surely over estimating. They were a normal amount, what he needed.  
  
Sherlock could not imagine how much weight he had put on since he started living with John. Now that they were engaged… oh he surely put on almost 2 stone.  
  
“Duck, where are you? I brought you back some of those biscuits you like. Have you had dinner? I’ll fix you something.” John shouted through the flat.  
  
Great, how was he not going to have anything without drawing John to the fact that —  
  
“Oh, love.”  
  
He looked up to see the other man standing in the doorway.  
  
Sherlock realized he probably should have closed the door. “It’s nothing.”  
  
“Do you need me to leave you alone? Or…”  
  
“No.” Sherlock sat up straighter and his back cracked. He must have been sitting there for a bit. “Its fine. I didn’t purge. I was just thinking.”  
  
“About purging?” John bit his lip. He most likely disliked how he sounded accusatory but Sherlock didn’t really care about that. He was right.  
  
“Its daft. I shouldn’t be worrying — how much weight do you think I’ve gained since you’ve moved here?”  
  
“I don’t know. I’d say that you put the weight on you had lost when you were having your problems.”  
  
“And more.”  
  
“I don’t know, you’re healthy.”  
  
“Fat. No one will say anything though because they think that I’m fragile. I landed hard today. Ton of bricks, bloody elephant.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Sherlock opened and closed his mouth a few times but nothing was coming out.  
  
John took a seat in front of him. “Did you have the wrong form?”  
  
He nodded slowly.  
  
“That’s why, then. You never land your jumps hard, only on the rare occasion that you mess up. Did someone say something?”  
  
“Anderson said I landed like a ton of bricks. I’ve been eating a lot.”  
  
“Anderson is a bloody fucking idiot for saying that. You’ve been eating according to your meal plans.”  
  
“I went off them.”  
  
“Not to eat less.”  
  
“Yes, but to eat more.”  
  
“They’re not there to be restrictive, you know that. You weren’t binging when you went off of them either. They’re there so you eat enough and so you can eat healthy.”  
  
Sherlock felt his eyes welling with tears, “Why is this happening? I’m fine. I’m fine.”  
  
John reached out and rubbed Sherlock’s leg. “You’re just having a bad day, it happens.”  
  
“Please don’t touch me.”  
  
John listened, taking his hand off Sherlock like he had just touched fire.  
  
They sat in silence while Sherlock cried like some idiot. He hated crying more than anything.  
  
“What do you need to do?” John finally asked once Sherlock calmed down enough.  
  
“I need — I need to sit here.”  
  
“Ok, that’s fine.” John said calmly. “If you need me, shout. I’m going to make a cuppa.”  
  
Sherlock stayed sitting on the bathroom floor for at least another hour, he only knew that by listening to John’s movements. Before John came home, he was just lost in the silence.  
  
He finally stood up and went into their bedroom, curling up into a ball on top of the duvet.  
  
“You should put on some comfier clothes.”  
  
“I’m too tired.”  
  
John laughed. “You’re going to regret sleeping in jeans, I know you.”  
  
“You promise that I’m not fat.”  
  
“I swear, Sherlock. You look fantastic.”  
  
“You’d say that if I weighed 30 stone.”  
  
“But you don’t.”  
  
“How much do you think I weigh?”  
  
“I honestly don’t know. If it’s going to bother you so much, I’ll go buy you a scale.”  
  
Sherlock rolled over to look at John, who was hovering by the side of the bed. “You know that’s not good for me.”  
  
“I know but, neither is this.”  
  
Sherlock took a deep breath, “I think I need to go to sleep.”  
  
“Please get into some pajamas first, Duck.” John urged. “That’s all I really want from you right now. I don’t want to hear you complain in the morning.”  
  
Sherlock obliged, but it was quite a lot of work to change.  
  
As soon as he did he went lied back down, falling to sleep minutes after his head hit the pillow.

***

The next morning Sherlock woke up to see John sitting in bed on his laptop. “What time is it? It’s too bright in here. We should be at the studio.”  
  
“We have food poisoning.” John explained simply. “Lestrade said he’d pass along the information to who ever you need to tell because I honestly don’t know what the protocol is for a dancer being out.”  
  
“I’m not going to the studio?”  
  
“You need a mental health day.” John shut his laptop, setting it aside on the nightstand. “You don’t have anything on that’s terribly important today.”  
  
“You can’t just decide that.”  
  
“I let you do whatever and I give you plenty of space but this is nonnegotiable. You need a day.”  
  
“You didn’t have to take the day.”  
  
“I did because I know you wouldn’t if I didn’t. You have a nice extended weekend.”  
  
Sherlock would have pouted if he still didn’t feel exhausted. “How long did I sleep?”  
  
“A long time but, you needed it. You had a long mentally exhausting night.”  
  
“I did not.”  
  
“I got in past eight from drinks and then going to the shops. So you were thinking about what had happened with Anderson from at least four, possibly early, until eight without talking about it. You were sitting alone in the bathroom for about three hours alone. Then we were in there together for an hour before I let you be for another two hours. You went into bed after eleven. I know that’s not very late but like I said, you were mentally exhausted.”  
  
Sherlock hated how time slipped away from him when he was feeling this way but at the same time it seemed to drag on forever.  
  
“So, what do you want to do today?”  
  
The dancer sat up slowly to stretch a bit, “Stay in bed.”  
  
“Ok, how about a cuppa?”  
  
“All right.” Sherlock thought for a long moment if he wanted anything else with it. He knew that John wouldn’t ask about any actual food in Sherlock’s current state. “And toast, dry.”  
  
“I can do that.”  
  
“And maybe bring an orange. Not for now but maybe later.”  
  
John smiled before getting out of bed. “You know this is something that you have to work on all the time. Don’t go beating yourself over one bad day.”  
  
“I’d rather not deal with it at all.”  
  
John rounded the bed to perch on the edge closer to Sherlock. “But we have to deal with it.”  
  
“We.”  
  
“Obviously.” John leaned over and kissed Sherlock’s forehead. “I’m here to help you deal, you know that. So, I’m going to make you a cuppa and toast. Then we can do some crosswords before watching endless amount of crap telly in bed.”  
  
“What about lunch, dinner?”  
  
“We’ll see how the toast goes, right?”  
  
Sherlock nodded, “Right.”  
  
“One thing at a time.”  
  
“I love you, John.”  
  
“You too, duck.”


End file.
